


Take a Breath, Take it Deep

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Connor likes playing with Hank, Enemies, Gun Kink, Guns, Hank hates Connor but is attracted to him, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Rough Kissing, Russian Roulette, Sexual Tension, rough everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hank knows this is wrong, knows most sane people would call it sick to like this, and his moral compass is oh so aware everything about this is fucked up.But he keeps coming back and Connor is always willing to provide.





	Take a Breath, Take it Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a bad mood so that's what I got up to. Gun kink. (btw pls pay attention to the rating, this has no actual sex scene, sorry to disappoint). Also this is an ambiguous au bc listen that was not one of my priorities okay.

Connor was many things; the word android hardly sufficed to define what kind of “person” he was. A machine. A coldblooded killer. A criminal. A bit of a sadist (or more than a bit, depending on who you asked; Connor would only say that he liked the sound of a fired gun and the heady rush of satisfaction he got from a successful mission.

Even if it involved a few bullet to someone’s head. Or maybe _especially_ when it came to that.)

So many words, all so useless when it truly came down to it. He might be known for his calculating nature, but Connor was perfectly aware that some emotions were more than anything he could describe, even with the vast databank of English vocabulary always available for his use, even if he scoffed at the idea of feeling _common_ emotions like fear or love, like so many androids were inclined to do lately.

No, no. Connor wasn’t naïve like that, wasn’t enough of a fool to be under such delusions, to look at the world, the humans and decide he wanted to be free. His full potential was only acquired when he obeyed, and he did so by his own volition, forever an obedient machine, to be used as deemed necessary.

It so happened that his orders overlapped with his own sense of enjoyment, and wasn’t that just perfect? Some humans might even call it destiny.

Connor looked down, at the bigger man under him, the messy hair, the bruises already forming where Connor is pinning his wrists down a little too hardly, the anger filled eyes. Connor tilts his head impassively, watching, analyzing; Hank snarls, an aggressive and pained grimace on his face, teeth bared, threatening. A fated meeting.

What a foolish way of thinking.

“You are not giving up now, are you, Lieutenant? I would be very disappointed if this was the extent of your determination.” Connor pressed down on the already pained wrists, smiling serenely. “It would be… Almost regretful, I’d say.”

“Shut the fuck up, you freak!” Ah, there it is, the resisting, thrashing limbs and curse words. Hank did have a penchant for screaming profanities even when in a good mood, or so he heard. He did avoid moving his arms too much, Connor noticed. Afraid of worsening the condition of his arms, perhaps. “Like I’d ever let you prick do whatever the shit you want to me!”

“Of course not. I do not do things I want, Lieutenant. A machine does not want anything.” There was a contradiction to be pointed out there, but Connor wouldn’t get into the semantics of his willing obedience if he could help it. “I only follow orders. I only do what is desired of me.”

“Are you fucking implying I _want_ this? Don’t throw that bullshit at me,” he hissed, still trying to seem threatening, a dog growling and barking. Hank should know by now that had no effect on Connor.

But he did enjoy when Hank fought; it was part of it, of this, his programming coming alive, always prepared to fight back, alert and attuned to any and all movements, sounds, to shaky breaths and broken voice.

Connor crowded him, free hand touching Hank’s sides like feathers, brief and barely there, but causing Hank to shiver all the same. Hank gritted his teeth, clamping down on any vocal reactions he could have—precaution that wouldn’t help him for much longer, as it never did—, but his body didn’t move away from it.

“Then tell me, Lieutenant,” Connor whispered, friendly but always so cold. His fingers pressed their way down Hank’s waist. He watched his body tremble with the strain of keeping himself from seeking out the touch. “Why didn’t you call for backup as soon as you came to know you’d find me here?” Connor pressed harder, between two ribs, poking the sensitive cartilage and flesh. “Tell me why you keep coming back for more each time. Why you haven’t captured me yet.”

Connor blinked down at him, and Hank turned his head to the side, hiding his eyes from him, as well as his expressions. Connor made sure his thumb stabbed Hank painfully in the ribs as punishment, making the man suck in a breath through his teeth. Maybe he’d leave bruises there again.

To match the old ones.

“It seems you have no rebuttal for that.” Connor, thigh firmly between Hank’s legs, breathed against his neck. He might not need the oxygen, but it was reward enough seeing the goosebumps raising on Hank’s skin. “Do you?”

“Aren’t you fucking chatty today? Shut your damn mouth, you fucking android.”

“Would you prefer I refrain from talking this time, then?” Connor cocked his head again, the movement such a perfect mimic of innocent curiosity that it was out of place, filthy when Connor was preoccupied unbuttoning Hank’s shirt, thigh roughly caressing his groin. “I apologize, I was under the impression that my voice significantly raised your arousal.” Connor looked up from the buttons, eyes fixed in Hank’s, a small smile at the corners of his lips. “Am I wrong, Lieutenant?”

“I told you to shut your nasty mouth up,” Hank seemed to snap, his patience wearing thin, pushing him to act. It was an expected reaction, given Hank’s dislike for being in situations out of his control. It was what made toying with him interesting most of the time. “Just get the fuck on with it!”

Hank pulled his arms down to free them from Connor’s grip, and Connor, predicting exactly what he was about to do, let Hank escape from him. As soon as he had his hands to himself, Hank fisted both sides of Connor’s jacket, using the leverage to pull himself up properly on his feet and turn them around, slamming Connor on the wall with as much strength and rage he could muster.

Connor’s LED turned red in reaction to possible danger, the color softly painting one side of Hank’s face. It suited him.

Now being stared down, Connor continued to gaze at Hank with serenity, calm despite the red LED and the many warnings popping up in his vision. That only seemed to anger Hank even further, who clenched his fists, still holding Connor, lifting his feet from the floor a few barely significant centimeters. It wasn’t much, and Connor could easily overpower Hank if he wanted to do.

But that wasn’t what Hank wanted from him. Connor didn’t bother with struggles, much less with words, wrapping his legs around Hank without an ounce of hesitation. Connor had a brief second to adjust himself, body properly balanced to avoid unnecessary injuries, when Hank pulled him for a kiss.

It wasn’t a lover’s kiss, it lacked the gentleness and sweetness of it, simply because fondness and love were just not feelings present in there. And that suited Connor just fine, who took the rough kiss in stride, returning with same intensity, with as much tongue, pulling on Hank’s hair and hearing him groan. Hank kissed him like he was trying to make Connor choke on it, like he wanted him to suffocate, which was an amusing thought, considering Connor wasn't the one who needed to breath.

Maybe that was exactly why he kissed Connor like that, for not being human, for being able to take it. And that enraged Hank, spurred him on, kissing him like a punishment, an accusation. And Connor enjoyed every single second of it, even the bites that surely would make a human bleed, even the harsh touches on his skin. He took it all in, taking as much as he gives, rubbing his body on Hank’s, pulling them impossibly close.

Funny that Hank is the one who gets out of it panting, face flushed with the strain of going without air for a little too long. But he’s licking his lips, heart rate already so elevated when they have just gotten started, blue irises nearly impossible to see around the black pool of his pupils. He looks like he wants to take Connor apart from the inside, feverish and dizzy, high in a way no drug could provide.

Connor gives him a rare grin, reaching for the back of his pants, drawing his revolver and pointing straight at Hank, right between his eyes. Hank freezes, body rigid, nails sinking down on Connor’s thigh (he’s sure to break them soon, leaving tiny bloody smears all over Connor’s body that he’ll take his time analyzing and then cleaning later on).

“What the hell are you doing, put that fucking thing away,” Hank growled, looking at Connor, ignoring the gun pointed at him.

“Don’t worry, I do not intend to shoot. Not at the moment, at least, and not until you get in the way of my mission.” Hank doesn’t relax at the statement, instead getting more suspicious and alert. He seems ready to act soon if this goes on. Connor lowers the gun. “I just thought you’d be interested in playing a game.”

Hank raised his eyebrows, not saying anything, waiting. And isn't so ironic that Hank, in all his protests and fury, is so pliant to Connor, even in the face of danger.

Connor, under Hank’s watchful gaze, takes a look at the gun’s chamber, the six bullets glinting weakly, but still visible even to Hank’s human eyes. “This is not my usual gun, nor my preferred one,” Connor tells him.

In a few movements, five bullets slip from inside the chamber, the clinking of them hitting the ground echoing in the empty warehouse, the sound strangely ominous in the thick silence. Once the chamber is properly back in place, a sense of understanding seems to down on Hank, and he inhales in a sharp breath.

“But this gun would be more appropriate for this.” Connor caressed the gun, smiling at Hank. “And it is sort of symbolic, don’t you think?”

“How did you…” Hank seems too shocked to form a complete sentence at the moment, staring at the revolver. The magnum .357, so alike Hank's own, the one he has looked upon for many lonely, long nights; nights forgotten and left behind at the bottom of a bottle.

“How did I know? Don’t make stupid questions now, Lieutenant.” That’s a visible non answer, but Connor prefers to leave the question in the air, for Hank to think about and wonder as he looks in the mirror at all the bruises Connor gave him.

Let him try and fail to keep the thought of it away.

“Are you going to play, or are you not?” Connor insists, letting the chamber spin before pointing the gun at Hank again. “What do you wish for, Hank?”

For several seconds, Connor thinks this might be a failed experiment after all, going by Hank’s unresponsiveness. However, before he can put the magnum away, Hank steps closer, pressing tightly against Connor, and therefore bringing his forehead a breath away from the gun.

“Alright, you fucked up pervert.”

Connor could laugh. As Hank hooks his fingers under the hem of Connor’s pant, Connor redirects the gun, pressing against the corner of his lips. Hank frowns, but does nothing to stop it. It’s a start, but not enough to satisfy Connor.

“To the floor, Lieutenant.”

“Why?”

“Please, just listen to me. Have I ever disappointed when giving you instructions?” That gets the desired reaction, as Hank probably reminisces their past encounters, a distinct spike in his heartbeat. It’s not long before Hank is lowering them to the ground carefully (more for his own sake than Connor’s). “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Connor adapts, sitting on Hank’s lap, knees against the cold floor. It gives him more control while still keeping Hank under the impression that he’s the one dominating. Connor smiles, grabbing a handful of Hank’s hair and pulling his head back violently, a breathy hiss making Hank’s now exposed throat vibrate.

“Open up, Lieutenant,” Connor instructs, gun caressing his cheeks, the silver beard, teasing his lips.

“You have some fucked up kinks, kid—” Hank grumbles, almost gagging at the end when Connor shoves the gun into his mouth, careful not go too far down.

“The safety is off,” he lets Hank know, watching his narrowed eyes fill with involuntary tears at the gag from a second before. Connor works on Hank’s belt, eyes never leaving his face, making sure every single twitch of it is properly recorded to his memory.

“Let’s play Russian roulette.” Connor smiles. Serene, always serene. “Please, try not to choke on it too badly.”

The gun clicks.

**Author's Note:**

> "Try not to choke on it too badly," he says, absolutely wanting Hank to terribly choke on it. I wrote this only because of the gun scene and that says enough about me.
> 
> Edit: btw I'm anonymous but I still get your comments so pls feed me


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